


The Man to Whom I Belong

by aria_dc_al_fine



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Comfort/Angst, Imperialism, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aria_dc_al_fine/pseuds/aria_dc_al_fine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bruce’s contract was bought by the (in)famous Lord Stark, Bruce had never thought that he would be happy for his circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the universe of ‘In My Master’s House’ (http://archiveofourown.org/series/18637) by BrighteyedJill, from BBC Sherlock fandom. Platonic Tony/Pepper, Stark Spangled Banner, Thor/Loki/Jane, Clint/Coulson/Pepper

 

“Take off your shirt,” the red-haired woman commanded.

Bruce set to work immediately, large blunt calloused fingers deftly unbuttoning his threadbare yellowing cotton shirt. He lifted his head a fraction to look at the Secretary in a question, and when she dropped her eyes to the floor around him he let the shirt fall to the ground.

The woman gave Bruce a thorough once-over, her pale blue eyes scrutinizing every inch of his skin, every strand of hair on his chest. Bruce didn’t squirm under the inspection.

“Your trousers, too,” another order followed.

Never one to worry about nudity, Bruce complied wordlessly, unbuckling his belt and letting the too-big piece of clothing slide down his legs.

“Turn around.”

Bruce let her inspect his body to her contentment, her eyes caressing the scars across his spine.

After a long while, she hummed in satisfaction, and Bruce let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You’d spent five years in the Philippines.”

“Yes,” it wasn’t a question; she was probably just reading his file loudly, but Bruce answered nevertheless. “Hard labour for three years, and medical assistance for two.” He still didn’t face her; he wasn’t told to.

Bruce heard the tapping of fingers against plastic before she continued, her not-questions. “The lycanthropy is under control.”  

For a second, all Bruce could feel were the suffocating heat of the desert, the flutter of panic under his ribcages as adrenaline coursed through his blood, and the pain as sharp canines pierced through his skin, infecting him and mangling him forever.

Bruce inhaled deeply, regulating his breathing as he resisted the urge to touch the white jagged scars on his right upper thigh. Any lower, and he would have lost that limb to the wolf for sure. “Yes,” his voice was scratchy even after he’d gulped, “I’ve been one year without an incidence. The military contraption is still functional.” Bruce refused to think of the two years he’d spent alternatively running or rotting as a lab rat, before some higher powers deemed him fit to be shipped to the volcanic colonies in Southeast Asia.

“Hmm…” more fingers tapping against plastic. This time, the moment of agonizing silence remained longer.  After an eternity, the Secretary declared, “That will be all.”

That’s it. No telling him what duties Bruce had been assigned to. Kitchen? Cleaning? More hard labour?

Bruce took it in stride, retrieved the clothes on the ground and made his way out of the redhead’s office. He met a blonde-haired man standing right outside, a leather collar fastened around his muscled neck, adorned with a platinum tag bearing a personal seal Bruce didn’t recognize, his blank blue eyes old as the lines of his face. Bruce followed him blindly as the blonde walked away wordlessly. It wasn’t his place to question how this house was run.

The former physicist hadn’t been a free man for seven years, after all; he’d had plenty of time to adapt.

\----------

“Enter,” the voice that answered her knock sounded exhausted.

Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts stepped into Lord Anthony Edward Stark’s study cautiously, expecting to find a minefield, and she was not mistaken.

Impeccably dressed and obediently kneeling by his Master as the ideal personal slave he was, the lines of Steve’s face were tense, his blue eyes hard as he glared at the floor beyond his cushion. Lord Tony wasn’t much better off, the skin between his brows pinched and his posture stiff as a rod. The half empty bottle of scotch at a corner of the mahogany table told Pepper how bad his day had gone, at just two o’ clock in the afternoon.

She bowed her head to hide her pursed lips. “The meeting in DC went well,” she reported. “Also, a new slave has settled in, Milord. Clint is assisting him.”

From his position, Steve twitched, as though radiating disapproval.

Tony grounded his teeth audibly before he sighed through his nose. “It’s time for your assembly,” he told the blonde at his side, despite being ten minutes early and both of them knew it.

Steve frowned at the dismissal. He rose to his feet gracefully, as was his wont as an experienced personal slave, and bowed from his waist, his movements well practiced from muscle memories. “Sir,” he turned around and left without further instructions.

Pepper watched him through the closing door, a frown marring her own face. “Don’t bother with the capsicle,” Tony told her, and sighed more loudly. “C’mere,” he gestured.

It had been almost fifteen months since Pepper had become officially the third most powerful person in Stark Industries, since Tony had set her free, but old habits die hard. She slid to her knees next to the aristocrat, and nuzzled his thigh as his broad hand curled around the back of her neck, rubbing absently at her bare nape. “God, Pep,” he whispered, “I miss you.”

“Me too, Sir,” Pepper murmured. For all that she was a free man now, her interactions with her Master in private (outside of the bedroom) had not changed much.

“You’ve been enjoying the challenges of directing my company, of course,” Tony smirked at her.

She blushed. “I’m a Secretary, Milord, not-”

“Pssh,” he waved her off, “everybody knows you’re the acting Director of Stark Industries' Energy division in all but name. Modesty doesn’t suit you,” he leered at the form-fitting ivory power suit Pepper was wearing, and smiled for the first time since she’d laid her eyes on him. “You look good.” His voice dropped in decibels as he leaned down.

She met him halfway in a chaste kiss. “Thanks to you,” she replied his smile.

Tony’s grin widened. “How’s your hubby dearest, the Agent?”

“Phil’s fine,” Pepper rolled her eyes, “You know he can shoot you if you say that to his face, right?”

Tony shrugged and ignored her. Just like old times. “Tell me about tonight,” he ordered her instead.

“Preparations for Lord Thor Odinson’s visit is well underway,” Pepper didn’t even need to refer to her tablet, “He’s bringing his own personal slave and his entourage is small; it won’t be much trouble.”

Tony, however, was scrunching his nose. “Loki will be here,” he groaned.

Pepper chuckled inwardly. Tony’s bad history with the disowned and disgraced Odinson’s former adopted son was a public secret.

She hesitated before she informed him of her next message. “Natasha told me that Lord Fury of SHIELD intends to pay a visit soon.”

Predictably, Tony scowled. Pepper let him grumble for a moment, murmuring words like ‘not cool’ and ‘nosy bastard’. Eventually, he ran out of his steam and they settled in a companionable silence, his expression pensive. Pepper closed her eyes, quietly missing the hours she could just be still in his company, detachedly observing his surroundings for him.

“…The new slave,” Tony’s voice sounded like they came from the end of a tunnel, “how’s he like?”

Pepper came to awareness quickly. “He’s very used to slavery,” she recounted, Bruce’s mannerisms and gait still clear in her memories, the thoughtless way he obeyed her orders. “You won’t be able to tell he used to be a free man. He’s…a lot more peaceful than I thought.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Pepper nodded. “I couldn’t imagine someone with his lycanthropy being that…calm.”

Tony observed her for a while before he grinned. “You like him.”

Pepper never thought of it that way, but… “You’re right, actually.”

“What can I say? Our slave collector knows your type,” he winked.

Pepper laughed. “I’ll be sure to pass that compliment to Phil.”

\----------

Bruce really didn’t know why Lord Stark bought his contract.

The Stark Mansion was ran by a state-of-the-art Butler-cum-Artificial Intelligence who’d introduced himself as JARVIS. And JARVIS coordinated everything from the security system to running the washing machines and ordering the groceries, reducing the slave headcount by much. And Lord Stark was not in shortage of kitchen slaves, house slaves, table slaves or personal slaves. Bruce was completely redundant here.

Regardless, he’d put on the collar bearing House Stark’s emblem after the blonde personal slave handed it to him, (“Clint,” the blonde had introduced himself very briefly, before he promptly disappeared) and wore the uniform he’d found in the closet of his assigned quarter. The leather was snug around the thick metal of the military’s contraption, and the shirt and the vest were loose around the stomach, but they fit him better than the filthy clothes that had crossed the Pacific Ocean with him.

An electronic bell chimed after Bruce managed to button his cuffs (he’d rarely worn ties even when he was still teaching at Culver). He stepped out of the hole in the wall that was his room and saw many slaves walking in one direction.

Bruce must have looked very lost, because one of them stopped and greeted him. “You’re new?”

“Hi,” Bruce smiled at the petite brown-haired woman, a loose summer dress wrapped around her slender gorgeous figure artfully. The red of her leather complimented her fair skin and her almond-shaped hazel eyes. He supposed she must be a personal slave. “I’m Bruce. Yes, I’m new,” he offered her his hand.

“I’m Jane,” she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Bruce. What duties have you been assigned to?”

“Um,” Bruce resisted the urge to rub his hands. He had to grow out of this nervous tic; it had brought him trouble before. “I don’t think I have been assigned one…Ms Potts did not tell me any.”

Any hopes that the practice was common in this household was gone at the look on Jane’s face. “That’s peculiar,” she commented. The two of them stared at each other for a couple of seconds before Jane continued, “Anyways, we are having assembly now. The head slave of our assigned unit addresses us during assembly every day. For now I think you can join me.” Her smile was really friendly.

Bruce was very relieved. “Thanks.”

By the time they had reached the living room, most personal slaves had occupied most of the sofas and chaise lounges in the place, draped across different furniture like pieces of art, long perfect limbs arranged almost lazily around each other like a picture of decadence. Each personal slave was so lovely and beautiful, Bruce felt out of place. Well, Bruce had felt out of place most of his life anyways, and blending to the wallpaper was easy for him.

“Okay, everyone settled?” the head slave was distinguishable by the gold trim of his collar, and the obvious quality of his suit. The man himself was charismatic and looked like he was cut out of a magazine, his features finely chiseled, his pale blue eyes piercing, his shoulders broad and his form truly fit. Bruce could see him turning heads as he held Lord Stark’s arm and became the envy of other Lords and Ladies in a banquet.

“Tonight, as I mentioned yesterday, Lord Thor Odinson would be joining Lord Stark for dinner today. Lord Thor had requested for you, Jane,” the head slave’s eyes fell on the pretty brunette on Bruce’s right. As Bruce ducked his head to avoid detection, Jane nodded in acknowledgement, a smile blossoming on her face. Bruce could feel the head slave’s gaze lingering on Bruce for a moment before he moved on. “Lord Thor would also bring along his personal slave and his friends, Lieutenant Hogun, Colonel Volstagg, Lord Fandral and Lady Sif. First of all, would anyone volunteer to accompany them for the night?”

The head slave went about his business efficiently and touched on some housekeeping matters before dismissing everyone, his authoritative tone indicating that he was used to leading others despite looking relatively young.

Bruce tried to slink away with Jane, who was bouncing on her feet in excitement, but a hand caught him on his shoulder. Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin.

He turned around to find the handsome head slave inspecting him closely. His serious features dissolved to a smile the moment he noticed he had Bruce’s attention. “You’re the new slave, aren’t you?”

“Yep, that’s me,” Bruce forced himself to look amicable. It made him wary, to be identified as ‘the’ anything. “My name’s Bruce.”

“I’m Steve,” the blonde shook his hand easily, but Bruce could tell that there was…a touch of incredulity on his face as the taller man asked, “So you’ve been assigned under my care?”

“Ah…no, actually I don’t think I’ve been assigned a duty,” Bruce smiled wryly. He couldn’t blame Steve; Bruce looked thoroughly unfit to be a personal slave. He was too old, for one. His skin was too callous, too scarred. Bruce didn’t look half bad for a middle-aged man, really, but no Lords or Ladies would want to be caught dead with him on their sides. He just wasn’t arm candy material.

“Ah,” for once, though, Bruce encountered comprehension and not surprise. “Well, Lord Stark likes to acquire slaves with unusual skill sets or bizarre histories, sometimes. It can take a while to know what you can perform best. Please don’t feel impatient.”

The way Steve spoke told Bruce it was an advice borne from experience, though Bruce couldn’t imagine why. A man with Steve's beauty was very obviously meant to be a prized personal slave. As Steve reached out to pat Bruce’s shoulder again, the shorter man sniffed out a familiar scent from the blonde. He deliberated whether he should ask a question, but Steve had beaten him on that. “So, Bruce,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “if I may ask, what your trigger is?”

 _He’s direct_ , Bruce thought as he put on another smile. “Anger, but don’t worry, I have it under a tight lid,” he shrugged and purposely turn to show Steve the contraption on the back of his neck, not quite hidden by his collar. Bruce pursed his lips before he decided to throw caution to the wind. They were both slaves; Steve did not have any rights over his life. “How about yours?”

Steve’s warm blue eyes hardened, and Bruce’s heart dropped to his stomach. The latter was cursing himself when the head slave barked, “None.” The word sounded like it was wrenched out of his lips unwillingly.

The other lycanthrope left without a backward glance. Bruce bowed his head.

“He slept,” a voice cut through the silence, and the former physicist’s head snapped back up in shock. Again. His heart wouldn’t survive long here, it seemed.

The woman the voice belonged to was a doe-eyed brunette with an ample bosom and wide red lips. Her blue-green irises were staring at him curiously as she twirled a lock of her long hair. Her skin was so _fair_. “Steve was Lord Howard Stark’s personal slave, you know,” her tone grew in excitement as she talked, as though she was sharing a delicious gossip. “The lycanthropy made him sleep. For a long, long time.”

A couple of seconds passed. Bruce didn’t even react visibly, but she could detect his incredulity. “You don’t believe me?” she scowled, “Check the photo albums in Lord Tony’s study.”

 _A one-way ticket to punishment, I’m sure_ , Bruce thought wryly. “Um…I’m Bruce,” he introduced himself instead. “Nice to meet you.”

“Darcy,” she responded airily. “You’re going to regret not believing me, Bruce.” She flicked her head, sending those ridiculously long shiny hair to Bruce’s face, and strutted away immediately, her chin up in the air.

 _Two people upset_ , Bruce sighed inwardly, _what a great first day._  

\----------

There was an explosion at a secluded corner of the East Wing.

Bruce’s keen tongue detected the taste of ashes in the air, and he followed it until he found a thin trail of smoke seeping out of one of the labs on the ground floor.

Bruce looked around in alarm. There were nobody else around; most of the slaves were busy preparing for Lord Thor Odinson’s visit.

“Son of a bitch!” he could hear someone coughing inside.

Bruce made up his mind. He threw his weight on the door and wrenched it open with his anomaly’s extra strength, despite the furniture being made of metal and managed electronically and all.

The view the slave was treated to, inside, was peculiar indeed: two oddly-shaped robots hunched over a small fire, one of them poorly aiming a fire extinguisher at the hazard, while the other clumsily holding on to a bucket of sand.

Between the two, a man was hunched over his knees. He was a free man; Bruce noted the lack of a collar around his neck, above the ratty t-shirt he was wearing. Whatever was visible of his hair indicated that it was jet black. When he wasn’t busy trying to expel the irritants in his lungs, the man was scolding the two robots and pushing them away from the fire. “D-don’t you – cough – _dare_ press the lever, Dummy! It’s – cough, cough – a sensitive-” he couldn’t finish his sentence, choked by a mouthful of soot.

Bruce’s medical training spurred him into action. He strode purposefully toward the other man with a hand covering his mouth, and examined the…machine that was burning. _Is this…is he building a particle accelerator!?_ Bruce paused to admire the complex contraption for half a second before putting out the fire with a few carefully placed slaps of a rag. As the flame flickered out of existence, Bruce discreetly removed the bucket of sand and the fire extinguisher from the robots, and turned to the man. “All you all right, sir?” He maneuvered the free man to a bench once he'd set his cargo on the floor, rubbing the free man's shaking torso as the latter's lungs rebelled.

The darker-haired man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “P-peachy,” he cleared his throat and winced.

“Here,” Bruce passed him a wet cloth, “please breathe through this as I prevent the sprinkler from ruining the rest of the experiments you have here, sir.”

The man looked like he was about to protest. Bruce left the cloth on the bench and went about his work quickly, identifying the tools that were available and climbing on the table to access the smoke detector. Before long, he’d had it disarmed.

The man on the bench was staring at Bruce with wide brown eyes, as though he was amazed.

“Sir,” Bruce bent down to check his pulse and parse his raspy breathing, making sure that there were no injuries, “do you want to visit a doctor?” Bruce knew he was probably doing something out of turn here, but old habits die hard.

The free man was still staring at him. “…the velocity wasn’t fast enough to achieve synchrotron radiation,” he ended up saying. [1]

Bruce’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Yes, well,” he glanced back at the smoking part of the accelerator, “a precise trajectory cannot be achieved using those materials, sir.”

The man’s staring was beginning to unnerve Bruce. When he finally spoke again, the slave was relieved. “You’re new.”

 _Do all free men here speak in not-questions?_ “Yes,” Bruce responded, regardless. “My name is Bruce, sir.”

The engineer grinned as he rose to his feet slowly. “Care to give me a hand?” he nudged at the accelerator.

 _Yes, please!_ Bruce nodded. He technically didn’t have anything to do for the day yet, according to Ms Potts.

Working with the engineer was surprisingly very enjoyable. At first, Bruce was pretending to be dull; no free man liked to know that a slave was smarter than him. But this free man was a genius. He could pick up Bruce’s unspoken thoughts quickly through the stupid questions Bruce posed, and before long Bruce didn’t have to censor himself at all. No wonder Stark Industries was leading the clean energy race; the researchers under its employ were so brilliant.

The experience was a little painful, because it reminded Bruce of the life he used to have, the eighteen hours he used to be able to spend in the lab, losing himself over challenging projects. But, if there was anything he’d learned over the past decade, it was to be thankful for whatever he had (because things could always be worse). Bruce was…glad he could have this back, however short.

They finally fell into a comfortable silence, each soldering pieces of metal together. “Wow,” the engineer murmured absently over the whirring of their equipment, “your brain, it’s so mind-blowing.”

An uneasy smile showed up inadvertently on Bruce’s face, hidden from the engineer’s sight. Good things didn’t last; he just hoped this wouldn’t backfire on him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Sir,” Steve appeared under the gaping doorway. His expression looked tight. “Lord Tony,” his tone was nothing short of polite, but Bruce could still detect a hint of disdain in it. “Your bath is ready.” The statement was neutral, but it sounded like a passively-worded reminder.

As the slave was inwardly groaning because _God, he’d manhandled Lord Anthony Stark, he’d touched Lord Anthony Stark without his permission_ , the aristocrat narrowed his dark eyes. “I got it,” he carelessly discarded his solder on the table, as though he was angry. On his way to the doorway, he suddenly froze.

Lord Stark turned before gazing thoughtfully at Bruce. “You are not assigned any duty yet.”

“Yes, Milord,” Bruce confirmed, the panic in his throat growing.

Lord Stark stared at a point over Bruce’s shoulder for a while, mulling over something, before he nodded to himself. “Okay,” he must have arrived to some sort of a decision, “you will be my personal slave, then.”

And all hell broke loose.

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I did not study Physics or Engineering in university, so I was just pulling some scientific mambo-jumbo from Wikipedia here. I don’t even know whether this can result in a mini explosion.


	2. Chapter 2

_The moon hung heavily on the sky, round and yellow like a large coin._

_The scientists in one lone facility in the New Mexico desert paid no heed to the clock, as absorbed in the project as the current leading expert on gamma radiation who was heading the research. A few administrative slaves milled around the place, helping the scientists in recording and entering data._

_If they had gone home earlier, they might have escaped the devastating catastrophe that occurred later._

_A howl pierced through the air, loud and feral, and Bruce wrenched his eyes away from the monitor, his heart in his throat. “A lycanthrope,” the word fell out of his lip, unbidden._

_Everyone in the lab stilled. It was so still one could hear a pin drop, before someone screamed, and chaos descended upon them._

_“Don’t panic!” Betty Ross shouted to get herself heard over the commotion. “We have a steel reinforced room here, remember? Our explosive-proof testing site. We’ll all huddle there and wait it out. Nobody will be hurt!”_

_Everybody followed her suggestion, all rushing to the steel reinforced room, pushing each other more frantically as sounds of growling and feet running across sandy plain came closer to their building. Soon, there was a loud thud from one of the entrances to the facility, the metal denting as a bulky body slammed itself against the door, determined to tear its way inside, and most of the people screamed again. The energy surrounding the crowd had reached a feverish pitch. Bruce was nearly stampeded on._

_“Everybody, please stay calm!” Betty continued instructing, her voice steady._

_By some miracle, everybody managed to fit into the test-site. Bruce locked the thick door with a relieved sigh, although his heart was still wreaking havoc under his ribcages._

_The relief was short-lived. Everyone flinched at the sound of something heavy smashing into glass outside. The creature had broken in._

_“I-is everybody inside?” Bruce tried to get his mind off the monster by doing a mental headcount. The scientists and slaves were looking around when Bruce realized a fact that made his heart drop to his stomach._

_“Rick?” his eyes searched for the young cheerful assistant who’d often helped him, “Rick Jones? Are you here?” his voice turned higher with each syllable._

_“…sir,” one of the slaves spoke reluctantly, “He’s not inside.”_

_As though on cue, a piercing cry could be heard from outside. “Open the door, please!” Rick’s familiar voice carried through the gaps between the door and the frame, the furniture rattling as the boy must be pounding on it, “I’m still outside! Please! Please save me!” he pleaded._

_Bruce’s mind warred against itself for a split second before he turned around and unlocked the door, despite the outrage of the rest of the occupants of the room. “You’re going to kill us all!” someone shrieked._

_“Bruce!” Betty curled her hand around him, her wide eyes hysterical._

_Bruce pulled the door open, nevertheless, and slipped out. He refused to not save a life when it was within his reach. Once was enough._

_“Doctor!” the look on Rick’s face – like the boy was so **happy** to see him, like he had faith in Bruce, and his faith was answered – was possibly the best thing Bruce had ever seen in his life._

_That was, until both males spied the creature lurking across the room, his hide tough and tinged red and his fangs glistening in a snarl, crouched on his hind legs, ready to pounce._

_There was only one second’s distance between the wolf and them, and Bruce used that impossible time window to push Rick into the safe room._

_“Doctor!” Rick’s eyes widened in terror when the lycanthrope sank its claws and teeth into Bruce’s thigh. As the older man screamed in pain, the boy stretched out his hands. “Doctor, hold onto me! I will pull you in!!”_

_“Lock the door!” Bruce snarled instead, his voice hoarse as pain overwhelmed his senses. His sight was tinged green. “You can’t save me! Keep the wolf out!!” his skin was hot with fear, his bones aching. He struggled against the creature but it was too strong, it was going to tear Bruce’s leg off – so the scientist went limp in the creature’s mouth, resigned to his fate. **He was going to die. Oh God, he was going to die.**_

_(Bruce didn’t die. But weeks later, when Bruce woke up restrained to the hospital bed with blood in his hands, having murdered three strangers who had angered him, he wished he did.)_

\---------

Steve was staring at Lord Stark like his master had grown a second head. “You already have me as your personal slave, Milord,” the sentence sounded like it had been spoken through gritted teeth.

The dark-haired aristocrat waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “So what? I’m allowed to have more than one personal slave,” as he talked, he suddenly paused and cocked his head, as though a light bulb was switched on in his brain. “You’ll continue to be the head of the personal slaves unit, of course.”

Steve looked like someone had punched his heart by the end of Lord Tony’s first statement, his mouth pursed like he’d swallowed a bitter lemon, and by the end of the second statement, he looked downright exasperated. “That’s not the issue!” he shouted, then added, “Sir.” He averted his eyes to the floor, like how proper slaves should behave when conversing with their Lords.

“So tell me what the issue is!” the billionaire lifted his chin toward Steve in a challenge.

“Um…” Bruce dared to speak up for the first time since the bomb was delivered, “Lord Stark, I don’t think I possess the right traits and skill sets to be a personal slave, let alone yours…”

“You must be kidding,” Lord Tony actually seemed affronted, “I know you possess plenty of the right skill sets.”

Anger shimmered in the back Bruce’s head, more strongly than any of the red hot stabs of fury he’d experienced over the past five years, when he was treated like a cattle in the Philippines. _My eyes must be green_. Bruce lowered his eyes as he took a deep breath and dug his nails into his palm as he clenched his fists, his knuckles white with the strain. “I’m afraid my sexual prowess is not as outstanding as you have parsed, Milord,” it took Bruce a lot of effort to say this evenly, the slave persistently inhaling and exhaling deeply through his nose.

“Sexual-” now, Lord Stark looked cross, his lips contorted in a scowl and his torso flat as a board.

Bruce ducked his head in dread. _Now I’ve offended him._

To his surprise, the aristocrat did not mete out any punishment. He merely paced around the lab. “I know that ‘playboy’ is one of my titles, and some private duties of a personal slave can be intimate in nature, but I have no interest in forcing myself on anyone who doesn’t want me,” his demeanor was cold as he spat the words, “I’m merely saying that you, Bruce, have all the social graces necessary for a personal slave’s public duties.”

Bruce was at a loss on what to say. “Thank you, sir,” he decided to reply to the compliment.

Unexpectedly, a smile appeared on Lord Stark’s face. “In fact, you’re the most patient, the most quietly observant man I have met,” he shook his head to himself and chuckled, “aside from monks, of course. That wasn’t your occupation when you were a free man, was it?”

“No, sir,” Bruce couldn’t help but respond to the amusement in the engineer’s voice with a small smile of his own.

Steve cleared his throat, effectively capturing Bruce’s and Lord Stark’s attention. “With all due respect, Milord,” he began, “I don’t think Bruce is ready to attend to you at tonight’s dinner.” He spoke in a polite, practical tone. There was no grounds to disagree with him.

“I agree, sir,” the older slave nodded. “I have never been a personal slave before. I do not know the etiquette.”

Lord Tony stared at the two of them like they were traitors. “Fine,” he heaved a great sigh as he was finally, finally exiting the lab. “But he’s still my personal slave, Steve. I don’t want to hear anything contrary. Bruce,” before he rounded the corner, the aristocrat poked his head back in. Lord Tony presented the new slave with a warm smile. “Welcome to my house.”

Bruce couldn’t help but be amazed. He bowed from his waist, his attempt a little stiff from his lack of familiarity with the movement. “Sir,” his gratitude was no less genuine.

His social superior beamed.

\-----------

“You’re mad,” Pepper sighed through her nose.

The man behind the foggy glass of the shower cubicle didn’t even attempt to cover himself. “You know,” Tony said over the pattering of hot water as his fingers worked through the suds in his hair, “if you want to join me in a steamy bathroom sex, you should have just told me. I’m very amendable to that.”

Pepper shook her head, though a fond smile had sneaked its way to her face. “You know my husband would kill us.”

Tony just shrugged a naked shoulder. “The invitation extends to him too!” his voice was nearly drowned when he tilted his head up toward the water.

“Seriously, sir,” Pepper heaved her breath.

“Tony,” the aristocrat interrupted.

“Seriously, Tony,” Pepper amended. “I know you like to antagonize Steve, but this is a step too far.”

“Just a step?” wet skin squeaked against metal as the billionaire turned off the knob. He winked at the redhead as he stepped out of the cubicle, a towed slung over his head.

Pepper didn’t bat an eye at his blatant display of nudity; she was used to it. “Tony, this is not a good idea. For Steve’s feelings and position in the household, for your reputation, and for Bruce.” She took Tony’s towel when it was handed to her and started rubbing his body dry without a second thought. Her blue eyes watched him for his reaction, knowing which argument to twist deeper to drive her point across. “All the other slaves will hate him. His life will be hell here.”

Tony huffed and pointed his eyes heavenward. “You don’t need to spell the politics out for me, Pep. I am not that dumb,” he spoke dryly.

Pepper paused and stayed at his feet. It was hard not to feel remorse when she’d obviously made him unhappy.

“It’s the first time I’m taking a second personal slave,” Tony didn’t drag the silence out for her, and she’d always loved him for that. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

Slowly, Pepper slid back to her feet. She discarded the towel, and steered Tony quietly to the closet. Tony hadn’t employed any valet for years; his personal slaves tended to double up as valet as well. He didn’t trust strangers to dress and undress him, not to mention put their fingers anywhere near the blue-glowing machine at the center of his chest. The reason why he was still alive. She gave it a tender caress before she looked at him. “Why, then?”

Truthfully, she didn’t need to ask. She’d known Tony had been unhappy, and the hollowness in his dark eyes, merely inches away from hers, just confirmed it. “Bruce genuinely enjoys being with me,” he sounded forlorn when he said that.

Pepper reached out to rub his cheekbones. “So have him as your lab assistant,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath. She leaned her temple against his. “It doesn’t have to be complicated, Tony.”

They stayed that way for a while, just soaking in an old familiarity, before Pepper stepped back just as quietly and reached out for the dress shirt Steve had laid out previously. They were on the clock. “You know,” she spoke as she entered his arm into a sleeve, “Steve likes you. He’s just poor at expressing it.”

Tony snorted, and the magic was gone. “Yeah, whatever,” he waved his hand in his usual dismissive gesture. “Just start training Bruce, won’t you? The extra skills won’t harm him.”

(Pepper knew this would happen, but she just had to say it. For Steve’s sake.)

Pepper sighed inwardly. “Yes, sir,” she acquiesced as she buttoned his shirt. She owed him this much.

He did let her go when he didn’t have to, after all.

\----------

Bruce returned to his small room in a daze, unable to make out what he should think of the day. He’d taken the long route back, helping the house slaves and kitchen slaves as much as possible in tasks he absolutely couldn’t butcher, like rolling out the rugs or cutting fruits, along the way. By the time he reached the room, the sky had gotten quite dark, and there were two things waiting for him that weren’t there when he’d left it for assembly.

The first was a set of dinner jacket hung in his relatively empty open cupboard, the fabric jet black and sleek. Bruce bet that it would feel velvety to the touch.

The second was Ms Potts, looking entirely out of place on his bare cot, her impossibly long legs crossed on her ankles, dressed in a stunning, backless sapphire blue evening gown, her strawberry blonde hair arranged in an artful bun on her head. She looked up from her tablet as he entered, her slender neck twisting as she turned her head toward him. “It’s taken you a while,” she raised a perfectly formed eyebrow.

“I…” Bruce looked back at the corridor, speechless, before he closed his gaping mouth and averted his eyes to the floor. “Apologies, Ma’am. I was not aware that you have been looking for me.”

“No matter,” Pepper rose to her feet in a fluid movement, graceful as a Goddess. “There is some time before the dinner. Wash up and get dressed quickly. Meet me in the breakfast hall in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he nodded, and turned sideways to give her way out of the room, her heels clacking against the tiles as she walked out. He refrained from watching the way her hips swayed.

 _So_ , Bruce took a second to just sigh, _Lord Tony wasn’t joking_.

Bruce quickly scrubbed himself in the communal shower, and slid himself into the clothes as swiftly and as carefully was possible, since he was pretty sure the dinner jacket probably cost four digits. He managed to fulfill his orders with a little time to spare, sans the tie because he really didn’t know how to fasten it to the strange low collar of his shirt. Instead of having long flaps, the triangular appendage tapered to an end below his Adam apple, kind of like a sailor’s uniform collar [1]. It must have been designed to show off the mark of ownership around his neck.

Pepper took one look at him, seeming pleased at how well he’d cleaned up, but raised an eyebrow at his hair and his neck.

Bruce flushed red and ducked his head again. “Apologies, Ma’am.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, but her rouged lips were curved upward. “It’s understandable.” She hooked her fingers, signaling him to come closer, and he obeyed.

Bruce was surprised when those elegant fingers pried the tie off his breast pocket and started putting it on him deftly. Ms Potts was standing close enough Bruce could count her long eyelashes if he wanted to, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Clint,” she suddenly called. Bruce didn’t realize the blonde personal slave was with them. “Would you mind getting a comb and a hair gel for us?”

From the corner of his eyes, Bruce saw the blonde personal slave nod before leaving quietly, like a shadow.

An unconventional choice for a personal slave, Clint was. Not that he wasn’t attractive; he had a striking face and a beautiful bone structure. He was just…older than average (not as old as Bruce was, of course), stoic, and he looked like he would rather avoid social interactions. Bruce supposed, someone like Pepper might prefer an inconspicuous personal slave who could observe her potential business partners as much as he could without them noticing.

“While we wait…” Pepper stepped back. Bruce didn’t need to look down to see that the short dark purple tie was perfectly in place. “I shall teach you some things about what to do when attending to a Lord as a personal slave. Not all, of course; we don’t have enough time…just enough for you to last through tonight’s dinner. I feel that it’ll be a good observation ground for you,” the redhead talked continuously as she guided Bruce to the dining table. “You’re not assigned to anyone tonight, but if you were, you will accompany him from the moment he steps into the house till he leaves. You will pull his chair out for him. Like this,” she demonstrated, her hand movements efficient and fluid.

Outwardly, Bruce nodded, but inwardly, his brows was rising to his hairline. How would she even _know_ these things? And why would she be the one to teach Bruce these? Logically speaking, it was Steve’s duty to make sure Bruce wouldn’t make a fool of himself and shame Lord Stark tonight, though if it was the tall handsome head slave who was conducting the training now, the tension between the two men would be palpable enough to cut through butter.

Apparently, Pepper heard his unvoiced questions, because after Bruce mimicked her closely and she praised him, a short silence descended upon them.

“I was Lord Stark’s personal slave, before Steve came into the picture,” her admission was quiet as a ghost, but her voice was loud in the stillness of the room. “I have been entrusted to teach you all you need to know.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. At the same time, it made sense. He could picture Pepper, with her beauty and her willowy limbs, running the household with her deadly efficiency and fitting into Lord Stark’s needs perfectly. That she was a free man now was only a testimony to His Lordship’s graciousness.

“I see,” Bruce eventually remarked. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Just after the words left Bruce’s mouth, Clint arrived with the required items in his hands. “Ma’am,” he bowed and offered them to the redhead.

“Alright,” Pepper eyed Bruce’s wild curls, and smiled wryly. “Let’s get to work, then.”

They didn’t talk about their personal histories again that evening.

\----------

“Loki,” Lord Thor, son of Duke and Ambassador of the Scandinavian Empire in the American Empire, stared at his personal slave with a frown on his regal face. “Please do not cause Tony any trouble.”

The dark-haired man at his side grounded his teeth. “I understand, Milord. I promise I won’t.”

Thor heaved a great sigh inwardly. It had been almost a year since Loki plotted against their father, caused the loss of several lives as collateral damage, and was sentenced to thirty years of hard labour in Greenland before Thor intervened and designated his _brother_ as his personal slave. The blonde Army personnel hated that he had to resort to this. Adopted or not, they grew up as siblings. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to get those times back.  

“Cheer up,” Hogun slapped his back merrily. “You’ll get to meet your beautiful Jane in Tony’s house today. Not to mention the good food! We’re supposed to be celebrating our leave from the Southern front!”

Thor gave his friend an uneasy nod. “You’re right.”

Loki scowled darkly.

The rest of the short drive was spent in rowdy noises, with Hogun and Volstagg telling lame jokes, and Sif and Fandral rolling their eyes. Thor laughed in response, though his heart was not in it.

Soon enough, they entered the sprawling grounds of Tony’s estate, their limousine moving on the meandering road cutting through the Stark Mansion’s well-kept garden. A group of slaves were already on stand by the moment they reached the lobby. Three of them opened the doors of the car the moment the vehicle stopped.

Thor smiled genuinely as he saw the familiar face of Tony’s personal slave. “Steve!” he greeted the other blonde with his booming voice. “How are you doing?” Thor liked Steve. The other blonde had been his sparring partner the one time he spent a month in Tony’s estate, and he appreciated how well the personal slave could defend himself. Most bed slaves tended to cower in the face of danger.

The blue-eyed slave bowed from his waist. “I’m well, thank you, Sir,” Steve smiled in return.

But the expression could not fool Thor’s eyes. There was tension in his righteous friend’s face, tiny lines around his eyes and lips that told Thor he was unhappy.

Thor didn’t push, though. Even slaves deserved some privacy.

“Lord Thor,” a familiar, melodious voice addressed him, and Thor grinned when he spotted the lovely petite brunette walking his way, gorgeous in her backless halter evening dress. “Jane,” he held her hand. “It has been a long time since I last saw you. You are still so beautiful.”

Her cheeks were tinged pink. “You’re too kind, my Lord,” her eyes sparkled as she smiled.

Loki, on Thor’s other side, threw his gaze away and scowled even deeper.

Without more fanfare, Steve led them all to the dining hall, where Tony and Miss Pepper were already seated. The two stood up to greet him, but Thor was distracted by a scent he had picked up since the door to the room was opened.

There was another lycanthrope in the dining hall.

In his job, Thor had been dealing more with stray lycanthropes than with human armies. He knew how dangerous they were, how to identify them.

Thor knew Steve was one, but Steve’s lycanthropy was the oddest Thor had ever known. It wasn’t uncommon to find lycanthropes who could never return to their human forms since they had unfortunately been bitten, stuck as monsters; rare, yes, but not unheard of. Steve was the only one Thor had met who had no triggers, and could use his lycanthrope’s powers in his human form. If the blonde didn’t still belong to the Starks, the military would have placed their grubby hands all over him.

(That, and no Empire was stupid enough to publicly condone experimentation with lycanthropes.)

But that was neither here nor there. The point was: Thor trusted Steve.

“Hey! Point break!” Tony snapped his fingers in front of the Scandinavian aristocrat. “What has gotten you in a daze?”

Thor blinked and shook his head. His face loosened to a smile. “My dear friend,” he opened his arms, readying himself to tackle his reluctant friend into a hug, when his eyes met that of a slave standing by the wall behind Tony’s chair.

 _The lycanthrope_ , his mind supplied.

A very unassuming man, slightly on the short side and although his shoulders were broad, he was so thin. To Thor’s relief, a standard-issued military auto-tranquilizer was visibly attached to his neck. And his expression. So domesticated.

 _Not a threat_.

“Can’t breathe here,” a tiny voice originated from within Thor’s arms. The blonde looked down to see his friend clawing Thor’s forearms with both hands and the taller man let him go immediately. “I’m so sorry, my dear friend,” he spoke ruefully.

Tony waved a hand characteristically. “Just…don’t do that again,” he said as he sat down, Steve pulling his chair out for him.

Loki, who was doing the same for Thor, snorted, “Weakling.”

Tony glared at the green-eyed slave.

“Loki!” Thor admonished loudly.

Loki only shrugged and bowed his head at Tony before taking a few steps back and standing against the wall behind Thor’s chair. Simultaneously, Jane settled herself on her knees next to Thor, and Steve next to his master.

Despite their proximity, there was a negative space between Tony and his personal slave. A master who was comfortable with his adoring slave would have his slave leaning his or her head on the master’s lap. Tony and Steve looked far too edgy to fool anyone.

Thor ignored the blatant truth, and lost himself in wine, good food and Jane’s smiles. The six free men on the table were listening to Tony’s anecdote when the genius, more than slightly tipsy, waved his arm in a particularly dramatic gesture and accidentally flung his fork backward.

Steve unfolded one leg as the guests laughed and chuckled at their host’s faux pas (they were friends; of course they could forgive Tony this mistake, especially since it was so _funny_ ), but before the head slave could stand up, the other lycanthrope had already picked up the cutlery. He got it replaced by one of the servers and approached the table for the first time since the dinner started. “Sir,” he placed the clean fork on the table soundlessly, apparently aware of Tony’s weird issue with others handing him things.

Tony grinned at him. “Thanks, Bruce.”

Steve was staring intensely at the other slave over Tony’s chair, the emotion in his eyes not something Thor had seen before.

Thor turned his attention back to the woman sitting across him, opting to ignore what he’d seen (again) to find that Pepper was looking at a point over his chair, at _Loki_ , Thor realized, her blue eyes guarded.

All of a sudden, Thor felt queasy.

A storm was brewing.

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Kind of like the collar of this: http://fabulesslyfrugal.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Mossimo-Supply-Co.-Mens-Shawl-Collar-Shirt-Target-Daily-Deals-290x300.png. Just the shape of the collar, though.


	3. Chapter 3

“Watch your step,” Ms Potts instructed.

Bruce froze, his spine straight as a log, and looked down at his feet as the red-haired woman tried to maneuver his body.

“And…one, two, three….one, two, three…back, right, step…front, left, st-” she hissed as her toe was squeezed by the sole of Bruce’s nondescript loafer.

‘Tried’ being the key word there.

Bruce released the woman’s shoulder and took a step back quickly, as though scalded. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am!” the slave ducked his head and bowed as low as possible.

“It’s all right,” Pepper sighed. “You’re…too tense, Bruce. You’re supposed to feel the rhythm with your body.” She waved at the music JARVIS had played for them in the background, _Johann Strauss Jr.’s_ , smooth and almost lyrical, the tempo building gradually, a beginner’s song.

Yet, Bruce still butchered it.

“Apologies,” the former medical slave’s cheeks were flushed red in shame.

Pepper sighed again. Bruce wasn’t watching her face, but he could bet his life there was a frown there. “May be I just don’t have enough body mass to mold yours to follow my lead…” she commented absently.

“So please let me help,” a male voice came from the doorway. At first, Bruce thought it was Clint’s, but when he and Ms Potts turned, the man who greeted their sight was Steve, standing across the room with his hands on his back and his feet shoulder-width apart, the proper stance almost military. The tall blonde personal slave smiled at Pepper and bowed his head. “Ma’am.”

Bruce’s heart rose to his throat as Pepper seemed like she was contemplating the offer. Steve…didn’t exactly have a good first impression of Bruce. Not to mention…Lord Tony’s impulsive decision that affected them both.

“Bruce?” The Secretary referred to him instead of making the decision for him.

Bruce forced himself to calm down. Ms Potts would be with them; no harm could come to him. The shorter man looked at the head slave in the eyes for a couple of seconds before he nodded. “Thank you.”

Steve’s smile looked so easy. “Hey, don’t sweat it,” he said as he approached the other slave. Bruce couldn’t tell whether it was deceptive or not. “It’s been a while since I last led a dance,” his admission looked almost sheepish.

Bruce smiled weakly. He knew Steve only admitted it to make him feel less nervous, and he didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

He’d already braced himself for the touch, but when Steve laid his palm between his shoulder-blades and grasped his hand, Bruce still jumped minutely, every muscle on his torso tensing. If Steve had noticed, he didn’t comment. He must have thought it was just Bruce’s dread for dancing, and the latter wouldn’t correct that half-misperception.

Ms Potts retreated to lean against the wall. “JARVIS, repeat the song from the beginning,” she instructed.

“Yes, Ms Potts,” the AI replied from the in-built speaker in the ballroom and soon enough, the first few tunes of _The Blue Danube_ wafted through the air.

Steve was fairly gentle in his leading, his body always leaning toward where he was going to move next so Bruce could expect it, the pressure of his hand on Bruce’s back guiding softly, never pushing the older slave unexpectedly. He always counted under his breath, his cadence firm and…really reassuring. But Bruce couldn’t relax. He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, because _why, why would he volunteer to help someone whose position threatens him? Why-_

Steve’s face was pinched and without looking down or feeling his feet, Bruce knew he had stepped on the taller man. Bruce was horrified. “I’m sor-”

“Sshh,” but Steve didn’t let him go, his hold around Bruce tight as an iron grip. The music was still playing around them as the tall blonde leaned closer to his ear. “You know how to do breathing exercises, right? I’ve seen you do one. Please breathe deeply for me now,” he whispered, quietly commanding as his palm spread out on Bruce’s back, pushing with more pressure. “Close your eyes,” said palm slid lower painstakingly slowly, “don’t stop till my hand stop moving.”

Bruce couldn’t help but obey, focusing on the air entering and leaving his lungs, the pull and push of his diaphragm. Bruce felt himself drift away, his body turning limp in Steve’s warm embrace as the larger man maneuvered him in a simple rocking motion, the hand on his lower back anchoring him. Eventually the hand returned to its proper position between Bruce’s shoulder blades and stopped.

When Bruce opened his eyes, he found that he’d managed to relax.

Steve took half a step back and smiled, the curve of his lips boyishly charming. The surprise was he looked so…happy about what he’d accomplished. As though he didn’t secretly resent Bruce.

“Shall we try again?” The blonde cocked his head.

Bruce nodded.

This time, he was better. So much better. By the end of the song, Bruce didn’t step on Steve again even once. Bruce looked up at his dance partner once silence returned to the room and found the blonde grinning, positively bursting with pride. It was such an endearing sight; Bruce couldn’t help but bask in the glow of that approval with a smile.

“Bravo!” a male voice interrupted again. All the occupants of the room turned to the doorway to find the Master of the house clapping loudly as he walked toward them, dressed in black slacks and burgundy red shirt, a patterned dark tie hanging around his neck and his blazer draped over an arm.

“Lord Stark,” the two slaves in the room automatically held themselves upright and bowed at him. Even Pepper had extricated herself from the wall and gave her boss a nod.

“You’re dressed nicely,” she noted. “Going out?”

“Just to a scientific event,” the dark-haired aristocrat shrugged, “I’ve been asked to give a presentation on the efficiency of nuclear generators.”

“I see,” Pepper took a step closer to the billionaire, only to be beaten to it by Steve. Now that Bruce was aware of it, he could identify traces of Pepper’s life as Lord Stark’s personal slave very evidently from her reflexes, the movements she made without conscious thought.

Meanwhile, Steve was deftly knotting his master’s tie to a perfect half Windsor, his long artist’s fingers moving gracefully and precisely, like it was a craft, though it was obviously a routine for him. As the personal slave assisted the aristocrat in putting on his blazer and brushing the fabric free of any wrinkles and lint, for once, Lord Tony looked completely peaceful. In fact, both of them looked completely at ease with each other.

Steve finished folding a pocket square to a straight fold and inserted it to his master’s breast pocket. “I’ll get ready in a moment, Milord.”

“Ah,” Lord Tony shook his head, “Steve, you don’t need to go.”

And the tranquil was shattered.

Bruce watched the small smile on the handsome blonde’s face disappearing with dismay. He nearly missed it when their master turned to look at him and said, “Come with me, Bruce.”

The older personal slave wrenched his eyes away from his senior with trepidation and referred to Ms Potts, partly to ask his teacher whether she thought he was ready to go out, and partly to avoid watching the emotions that must be flashing through Steve’s expression now.

Pepper caught Bruce’s eyes, and moved her head downward minutely.

Bruce gave the Master of the house a nod. “Sir,” he began to walk out of the room. As he passed by Steve, he heard the head slave murmur, “Change to a white dress shirt and a vest that matches your trousers.”

Bruce almost couldn’t resist the urge to scrub his face. Even in this situation, Steve still had to be helpful to him. “Thanks,” he could only express his gratitude quietly.

Steve didn’t reply.

\----------

If Bruce was there in any other capacity but that of a personal slave, he would have enjoyed the Science Expo.

Carefully keeping himself the respectable distance of two feet behind Lord Stark, Bruce occupied himself by recounting the advice Pepper left him with, word for word. _“Don’t answer any questions unless Tony tells you to. Don’t smile. Don’t eat or drink anything Tony doesn’t tell you to either. Always keep up your awareness of him in the room,” she ticked off her fingers one by one before finally smiling at him. “And just try to have a good time.”_ [1]

So far, Bruce was finding the last one the most difficult.

Because as Tony moved across the room, making jokes with some of the big shots attending the event, Bruce couldn’t shake the feeling that _everyone_ was watching him. And, to some extent, it was true; more than once, he’d caught personal slaves of other Lords and Ladies scrutinizing him, either openly or discreetly. It wasn’t a formal banquet, so not everyone in the hall was nobility with personal slaves, but even some free men were _staring._

“Lord Stark!” a nondescript middle-aged man with thinning hair approached them.

“Lord Herman,” Tony’s slick voice didn’t hide how bored he sounded.

A man with dirty blonde hair stood next to the other aristocrat, his hands full with two bags of pamphlets, the kind the receptionist had handed them. He was young and lithe, built like a surfer, his golden tanned skin a stark contrast to his beige trousers.

Lord Herman referred to another man in a grey suit. “This is Jacob, my business partner from Amesto Incorporated.”

An awkward silence followed the introduction. Bruce, who’d been keeping his gaze down, guessed that his master must have ignored Jacob’s hand.

“Right,” Jacob didn’t sound offended. “It was an enlightening speech!”

“Of course it was,” Tony responded without missing a beat.

“About the generator you mentioned,” Jacob wasn’t discouraged. “At Amesto, we-”

“I’m thirsty,” Lord Tony interrupted.

Belatedly, Bruce realized this must be his cue. He quickly shuffled closer to his master. “What would you like to get, Sir?”

“Brandy,” Lord Tony’s swift answer was followed by an obtuse silence.

Bruce realized that his master was deliberately not asking his companions what they would like to get.

The slave gave a small bow. “I will get it immediately, Sir.”

As Bruce swam through a sea of people to get to the bar, getting jabbed by elbows in his bid to avoid brushing against free men, Bruce pondered whether he had just been sent away. Lord Herman’s personal slave was way more attractive than Bruce, after all.

A personal slave was a status symbol, like jewelry. Something utterly _useless_ in substance, yet people kept because they were meant to be shown off as an indicator of wealth and power. The more desirable the slave was, the more his or her master would be envied. And Bruce knew he was far from pretty.

Bruce missed the old days trailing behind the busy surgeons, staying awake for forty hours straight to assist the emergency room residents. He was still treated like a tool than an actual human being there, but at least he’d been a useful tool. Hell, Bruce was more useful when he was knocking nails into blocks of wood and constructing buildings for American expatriates in the Philippines. 

After Bruce had reached the bar, he spent some time observing how other slaves order their drinks (“Dry martini for my Lady, and gin and tonic,”) before wondering whether Lord Tony had told him to order a drink for himself. Bruce deduced that his master made no such implication, and approached the counter.

“What do you want, boy?” the bartender snapped at him rudely.

The stringy man with a cocktail shaker in his hands could be two decades his junior. There was no collar around his neck, so the free man could choose to call Bruce anything he wanted. [2]

The slave pitched his head forward. “Brandy for my Lord please,” as he requested politely, he peered his eyes slowly in the direction of his master. He made sure the bartender saw who Bruce was looking at, and the emblem on Bruce’s collar. “Lord Stark,” he added, craning his neck a little.

The bartender perked up. “Right away,” he bumped Bruce’s order up.

The slave smiled inwardly.

When Bruce returned to Lord Tony’s side with the drink, the engineer was still standing by Lord Herman and his companions, looking like he was bored to tears.

“Milord,” as Bruce held up his offering, Lord Tony turned to him and grinned widely. “Bruce, what do you think of using molten helium as coolant for a thermal reactor?”

The slave blinked. “It’s passively safe, since you can use graphite moderated core and a pebble bed in the design, both easily acquired materials,” he racked through his brain. It’s been a while since he got to read scientific journals. “But the possible technical problems may outweigh the benefits,” he opinionated unthinkingly. “Supercritical water makes a better coolant.”

Jacob’s face darkened. Belatedly, Bruce wondered whether he had put himself in trouble, but Lord Tony looked so pleased. He flung an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and pressed him against his side, a distance that wasn’t respectable for a personal slave and his master in public. Lord Tony didn’t look like he could care less. “That’s what my PhD-holder says,” he declared.

Bruce was so surprised he forgot to keep his head down. He was being shown off.

For the first time Lord Herman greeted his peer, he seemed pissed. “Fine,” the balding man almost spat. “Good day, Lord Stark.”

“Bye bye,” his master gave the retreating trio a mocking wave before he slipped two fingers under his shirt collar. “I’ve had enough,” he groaned. “Let’s go home.”

Bruce slid out of Lord Tony’s arm. “Yes, Sir,” he obeyed.

\----------

**_Tony Stark: Out with the Old, In with the New?_ **

_By Parker, P._

_Yesterday’s bi-annual Science Expo at Columbia University saw genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Lord Anthony ‘Tony’ E. Stark with a new arm candy. The personal slave Lord Stark had brought to the Expo used to be Dr. Robert Bruce Banner PhD, former nuclear physicist and faculty member of Culver University. Has Banner replaced Lord Stark’s current personal slave Steve Rogers, who bears uncanny resemblance to WWII-veteran ‘American Hero’ Steven Grant Rogers? Or had Lord Stark only taken Banner on as a second personal slave?_

_‘American Hero’ Rogers Sr. was born in 1918 and acquired by Lord Howard Stark in 1939 after his family fell into debt. In 1942, Lord Howard Stark loaned Rogers Sr. to the Army, who then featured the duo as icons in a campaign encouraging Lords and Ladies to enlist their slaves in the military. Rogers Sr. eventually joined the front lines and became a real Hero and a role model for every slave in the Empire when he managed to free hundreds of PoWs from an enemy base. Rogers Sr. went MIA in late 1944 and was later presumed dead._

_Rogers Jr. came into Lord Tony Stark’s employ after His Lordship set his previous personal slave Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts-Coulson free. Both his origins and how he came to be Lord Tony’s personal slave were unknown. The media has been rife with speculations, from suggestions that Rogers Jr. was the original Hero’s grandson to conspiracy theories like cloning, time travel and cryogenic storage. In any case, owning one Rogers Jr. can guarantee his master fame, and we know how much Lord Tony loves attention._

_But perhaps, this is not enough for our hard-to-please multibillionaire. As the third smartest person in the planet, Lord Tony has probably found Banner’s intellect refreshing. Hailing from Dayton, Ohio, the former nuclear physicist…_

Bruce wrenched his eyes from the article in the Celebrity column, disbelieving what he had just accidentally speed-read. “What?” he couldn’t help but exclaim.

Happy, the chauffeur who had been reading the newspaper as Bruce meandered into the kitchen, flipped the papers to see what had affronted his fellow slave. The place was bursting with activities as the large-framed man scanned through the article, slaves milling around them, bakers preparing for breakfast, house slaves transporting vacuum cleaners to begin cleaning for the day. Mrs. Jones, the elderly housekeeper who’d teamed up with JARVIS in running the house, slipped Bruce a smile as she handed him a cup of tea.

When Happy finished examining the article, he shot Bruce a wry smile. “Don’t take it to heart,” he patted the older man on the back with his large palm. “These people have nothing to do.”

Logically speaking, Bruce knew that the mass media was crap; he never used to like it, even when he was a free man. He couldn’t help but worry about what Steve would feel when he saw the papers. And there wasn’t a day that passed by without Steve reading the papers.

“Dr. Banner,” JARVIS said from a speaker overhead somewhere. “Lord Tony has requested your presence in the underground lab.” The AI was the only one who still insisted to call Bruce that way, though others rarely would. Slaves didn’t own any titles (or surnames).

“Duty calls,” Happy shrugged at the staircase that would lead to the family wing of the Mansion.

Bruce nodded. “Thanks,” he told the chauffeur before he went off.

“Brucie! Bruce!” Lord Tony sounded absolutely thrilled when the curly-haired slave passed through the lab door, not longer than five minutes later. As usual, the squad of loopy robots – Dummy, U and Butterfingers – surrounded the aristocrat. At first, Bruce wondered why Lord Tony kept those obviously defective robots around, but eventually, he felt assured by their presence. Those robots told Bruce Lord Tony wasn’t the kind of master who would throw his slaves away when they got too old to serve him (provided Lord Tony was fond of them of course).

“Come here!” Lord Tony was so excited he was swinging a kind of hi-tech wrench as his arm flailed.

Bruce refused to comment on the dark circles below his master’s eyes. Nobody liked a naggy personal slave. “Sir,” he approached the odd-looking hand-shaped equipment the engineer was working on, wondering what it was.

“Check out the propeller!” Lord Tony placed his hand inside the contraption and pressed something. A bright blue beam shot out of the other end, blasting the lab table next to them into pieces of debris and flame and throwing the man to his back.

A weapon, then. Bruce quietly debated whether he should attend to the fire or his master first, before quickly deciding that safety came first. He extinguished the fire efficiently (practice made perfect, after all) as Lord Tony crawled back to the table. “Too strong,” he moaned. “Something may be wrong in the circuitry…”

“Sir, if I may say,” Bruce said he batted the fire hydrant out of Dummy’s hands. Lord Tony waved his hand in acquiesce. “It may just be an issue with the strength of the power source. If it can be tuned…”

The genius suddenly looked wistful. “It can’t.”

When a slight frown made its way to Bruce’s face, unbidden, Lord Tony grew pensive. A second of silence passed before he said. “Here, let me show you.”

To Bruce’s surprise, his master reached for the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head. The surprise was overwhelmed by a sense of wonder when his eyes fell on the circular, glowing…contraption in the center of his chest, its hum actually audible in the silence of the lab.

The media had mentioned that Lord Stark had some sort of a heart condition, but never delved into details. Occasionally, in the past few weeks, Bruce had glimpsed the glow through his master’s shirt, but he thought it was just the work of a weird accessory. He’d never imagined that there would be a complicated…

“Is that a nuclear reactor?” Bruce spoke out of turn in awe, then quickly added, “Sir.”

“Yep!” Lord Tony didn’t seemed bothered. “It’s what powering the propeller.”

 _Something that small?_ Bruce’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, and the engineer laughed. “This baby can power a building for a year, you know,” he tapped it with his thumb, his face flushed with pride.

The scientist in Bruce itched to touch it, to study it, to take it apart. He’d refrained but the curiosity couldn’t be dammed. “What core are you using?”

“It used to be palladium,” his master actually looked excited at the chance to discuss it and not like he was just humouring his slave. When Bruce’s eyebrows disappeared in his hairline, Lord Tony chuckled. “Yeah, I know, poisonous. I inhaled this really disgusting detox juice for a while, until I…synthesized a new element, Vibranium. With the predecessor of the particle accelerator I was tinkering with the other day.”

No wonder SI was the leader in the clean energy industry. Synthesizing a new element…that was something else entirely! “No shit,” Bruce forgot his seven years of conditioning and blurted.

He flinched when Lord Tony’s eyes widened. But the aristocrat just laughed. So heartily he had to bend down and catch his breath, his eyes actually watering. “Oh, Bruce,” Lord Tony clap Bruce’s shoulder with one hand and wiped his tears with another, “You’re hiding a personality behind that calm façade, aren’t you? You’re tiptoeing, big man. You need to strut.”

Bruce only responded with by ducking his eyes in embarrassment.

“Hey,” his master’s face were very close to Bruce when he spoke, his eyes bright and his cheeks were flushed pink from lack of breath. “Can you keep a secret?”

Of course Bruce could. Personal slaves were meant to be trustworthy, anyways. Emperors used to be buried with their personal slaves, because the latter knew too much of his or her master’s secrets. Personal slaves see what the master sees, hear what the master hears. Bruce searched Lord Tony’s face for a couple of seconds before he nodded firmly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” his grin widened. Lord Tony straightened up and tugged his slave to one of the closets in the lab. “The propeller is part of something I have been working on.” The engineer opened the door and revealed a staircase going downward, instead of…a storage space. “You’ll…love it, I think.” Quiet energy thrummed under Lord Tony’s skin as he pushed Bruce forward.

Bruce let himself be manhandled, one step at a time, until they reached a small room under that basement lab, its wall made of steel. At the far end, there was a glass case containing a humanoid robot, gleaming metallic silver, with a hollow space in its chest.

The slave gasped. “What…is it…?” He didn’t realize he was moving toward it without being prompted.

“Mark II,” Lord Tony answered like he’d made up his mind about his creation’s name. He paused before he continued, his tone starting out hesitant. “You did hear that I was kidnapped in Afghanistan, right?”

“Yes, Sir,” the Philippines might be a far-flung place, but she still had televisions.

Lord Tony approached the glass casing as well, and stood next to his slave, stalling. “…I managed to escape using his predecessor. Mark I.”

Bruce lost count of how many times he’d been surprised within the past one hour. He couldn’t imagine the kind of conditions his master had been held hostage in, but it couldn’t be good. And in that cave, that bare, frightening place, he still managed to invent something incredible.

“He’s basically a suit, powered by the arc reactor. He can fly, powered by a cruder version of the propeller you saw, the jet boots.” [3] Bruce could tell that his master felt a sense of calm in technical explanations. “He didn’t survive with me to the US Army base, though.”

The important question was: why? Not why Mark II was hidden, of course; the Empire would seize him (not _it_ , never _it_ ) as soon as they know he existed. But why was Mark II built? Was Lord Tony haunted by the sense of helplessness and terror the kidnapping had left in him? Or was he assembled for any other purposes? What purposes?

“…What material is it made of, Sir?” Bruce too, felt calmer burying himself in technical details.

“Titanium and steel,” Lord Stark answered immediately. _He really trusted me_ , Bruce thought. “It’s…a little focused on flight,” the aristocrat added as Bruce examined Mark II’s other features.

“Flight?” Bruce frowned. “Won’t condensations freeze on the metal at high altitudes?” He thought to himself. Out loud. Belatedly, Bruce added, “Sir.”

But Lord Tony wasn’t paying attention to the slight. No, he was staring at Bruce in wonder. The aristocrat seized the former scientist on both arms. “You’re amazing, do you know that?” he breathed, his wide eyes bright with passion.

They ran back upstairs, and were poring over a new design of an anti-icing system, when JARVIS suddenly interrupted them. “Sir, Colonel James Rhodes is at the lobby.”

Bruce tensed involuntarily.

“Rhodey?” Lord Tony looked up and blinked, his lips curling upward widely. “I’ll be there in a sec!” He was nearly gone from the lab when he paused and turned. “Bruce-”

“I will clean these up, Sir,” the slave confirmed.

Lord Tony beamed, then continued going off his own way.

The cleaning up didn’t take Bruce long (again, practice makes perfect). Bruce then made his way to the lobby, almost dragging his feet.

When he arrived, Bruce saw that Steve was already on attendance. Lord Tony himself was talking a mile a minute with a man of African American descent, neatly dressed in the blue uniform of the American Empire’s Air Force. Bruce’s master had a greasy arm around the other free man, uncaring to the fact that he was wearing a dirty wife-beater.

“Rhodey!” Ms Potts arrived from the West wing and rushed down the staircase, throwing her arms around the two men, her expensive-looking green designer suit be damn. “I’m so happy to see you!”

A look of…guilt crossed through Colonel Rhodes’ face. Bruce frowned. He peered at Steve, and noticed the taller man’s eyes fixated on their guest’s expression as well. Something was wrong.

“Tony,” the African American stepped back from the three-way hug, apology written all over his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Rhodey?” Pepper cocked her head. A question that was no doubt forming in her lips was frozen when another man entered the lobby. “I wish you are that happy to see me as well.”

The stranger was a huge man, Bruce noted, his tall broad frame encased by the finest suit New York could offer. Though bald and greying, the man was still very imposing, his piercing blue eyes predatory. He was smiling at the Master of the Stark Mansion, but the facial expression only inspired everyone who saw it to feel cold.  

Immediately, a wary look entered Ms Potts’ eyes, while Lord Tony glared at him so hard if looks could kill, the newcomer would have been six feet under. “Obie,” he greeted, his voice full of prickles. “Please come in. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Lord Obadiah Stane, Lord Tony’s second in-command and acting Director of Stark Industries’ Weapons division, walked in further, and did exactly that.

It was going to be a long week.

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. and 2. are lines / scenes adapted straight from BrightejedJill’s ‘Believe also in Me’ from ‘In My Master’s House’ verse.
> 
> 3\. Info from: http://ironman.wikia.com/wiki/Mark_I


End file.
